


another word for pillow talk

by anotherdirtycomputer



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (this fic is about cole), Angst, Dealing With Loss, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, This Is Sad, also my writing gets so pretentious sometimes sorry if i sound like an asshole ajskldf, connor and hank are married because reasons, hank is healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherdirtycomputer/pseuds/anotherdirtycomputer
Summary: A private discussion in the late hours of the night.





	another word for pillow talk

**Author's Note:**

> this one is a bit short, but i have two other conhank fics nearly finished, and some other detroit stuff i'm working on as well! i should be focusing on my mcu chapter fic, but i'm weak and this game has taken over my life.
> 
> i apologize in advance for any typos or formatting issues! i'll fix those up as i discover them.
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Connor could tell Hank was perturbed; his breathing was shallower than it would be if he were at ease, and he picked at his fingernails, belaying his anxious thoughts.

Connor rested his hand on Hank's own, hoping to pull him from his painful habit for a moment. The android's skin pulled away, the stark white of his true hand intimate against Hank's knuckles.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

Hank sighed. He sounded weary. "Of course, Connor."

Connor pulled himself closer to his husband, his head resting comfortably against Hank's shoulder. Connor didn't sleep, but Hank often appreciated having someone beside him while he fell asleep -- and Connor liked it, too. The steady pulse of Hank's heart, the slow rhythm of his breathing under Connor's head... It was nice.

Hank's thumbs circled Connor's unfeeling knuckles. His breathing ruffled Connor's hair.

"What's hurting you, Hank?"

Connor couldn't see him, but he knew, somehow, that Hank was closing his eyes.

Hank opened up quickly -- he had always been bad at hiding his emotions. He wore his heart on his sleeve, he'd told Connor once, his voice touched with a bitter kind of humor.

Now, his voice was tired and sad. "I spent years putting away Red Ice dealers. I did everything -- I gave everything I fuckin' had, trying to put that shit away." His hand stilled against Connor's. "And it still killed my son."

Connor gripped Hank's hand, lacing their fingers together. "It is not your fault."

Hank turned his neck, pressing his cheek against Connor's forehead. "I know." Behind all that exhaustion, he sounded fond. "But, it still feels like a waste of time. All those years of my life, gone, and it didn't do a damned thing for my boy."

"It did for someone else's." Connor pulled his head off Hank's shoulder to stare into his eyes. Hank's eyes were closed, as Connor predicted, but they opened with Connor's movement. Connor ached at the weary acceptance he saw looking back at him. "You've helped a lot of people, Hank. You've saved lives."

The corners of Hank's mouth curled into something not quite a smile and not quite a pained grimace. "You sayin’ beggars can't be choosers?" It was a joke, but just barely.

Connor leaned down for a quick kiss. "That's not what I'm saying. No, that’s not what I… I'm telling you that..." He stopped for a moment, closing his mouth, his LED spinning yellow as he considered the right wording. "I'm sorry, Hank, that you're hurting, and that Cole... But, thanks to you, there are people out there that _didn't_ lose their children."

Hank's eyes were closed again. He took a deep, wavering breath, and breathed it out again, gentle against Connor's face. Even now, when Connor knew Hank hadn't indulged, it filled him with pride to detect no amount of alcohol. Even now, when Hank was hurting, he was healing. Connor wanted to tell him that, as well as a million other things; that he was strong, that he was brave, that he was going to be okay.

"I love you, Hank," Connor lowered his voice, a tender whisper.

Hank didn't speak -- Connor knew he didn't trust his own voice. His adam's apple shook, his bottom lip wavering along with it. But his eyes, marveled Connor, were full of love, and something like gratitude.

Connor laid his head back down against Hank's chest, right above his heart, to give him some privacy. He focused instead on Hank's steady heartbeat, syncing up his systems to the sound, lulling himself into stasis. He wouldn't be able to stay in stasis for long here next to Hank -- Hank's body temperature rose at night, and Connor's own alerts would wake him, warning him of potential overheating -- but... it felt nice. Being here with Hank, close to him, holding him, felt _real_ .

"Good night, Connor," Hank finally whispered, holding his husband closer to him for a brief moment.

The streetlamps outside weren’t like moonlight; they were man-made, bright, fluorescent. _Artificial_ , to some. _Cold_ . Connor couldn’t tell the difference. The light was soft against the bedsheets, against the walls, against their still-held hands.

Connor smiled and pressed a kiss to the center of Hank's chest, over his shirt. "Rest well, Hank."

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are a writer's best friends!


End file.
